


hung with snow

by frausorge



Series: we all have come together [3]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2014-2015 NHL Season, Comeplay, Dom/sub, Kink Discovery, Kink Negotiation, Kneeling, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Praise Kink, Safeword Use, San Jose Sharks, Subspace, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26439355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frausorge/pseuds/frausorge
Summary: It starts when Marc-Édouard has to take a break.
Relationships: Justin Braun/Marc-Edouard Vlasic
Series: we all have come together [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/480775
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32
Collections: Iddy Iddy Bang Bang! 2020





	hung with snow

**Author's Note:**

> Major thanks to Lise and bunnymcfoo for beta reading!
> 
> Title from A. E. Housman.
> 
> I'm not tagging the Flyers since this fic is set in the 2014-2015 season, but I hope that someone in Philadelphia enjoys [this stretch](https://tausendsorgen.tumblr.com/post/629134611456376833) as much as I did.

It starts when Marc-Édouard has to take a break to check on Kelly, who's barking up a storm downstairs. Marc-Édouard is thoroughly keyed up after long minutes spent kissing Justin, holding Justin close with one hand on the nape of his neck and the other at the small of his back, till they both had to draw apart to breathe. 

Justin's just slid down onto his knees on the floor between Marc-Édouard's spread legs, his face set with intent, his hands curling into Marc-Édouard's waistband, when they hear the noise. Marc-Édouard groans.

"Sorry," he says, "I better go see what's up with her."

Justin gives him a half-smile and nods. 

"Hold that thought, though," Marc-Édouard says. Justin sits back on his heels, his face turned up. "Fuck yeah, just like that." Marc-Édouard leans down and kisses him once more. "Just wait right there, and you can keep going when I get back."

Fortunately there's nothing actually the matter with Kelly; it's just that the cover has slid off her crate. Marc-Édouard puts it back in place, gets Kelly resettled, and then heads back upstairs.

When he comes back into his bedroom, he sees Justin still kneeling next to the bed, in what actually does look like the same position Marc-Édouard left him in. He doesn't turn around when Marc-Édouard opens the door.

"Sorry for the interruption," Marc-Édouard says, stripping the rest of the way before he walks over to the bed. "Where were we?"

Justin looks up with eyes that look a little unfocused. "I waited," he says.

"You did," Marc-Édouard agrees.

"Can I suck you now?"

Justin's voice sounds slowed down, almost dreamy. Marc-Édouard looks down at him, trying to gauge how tired Justin is. He lays his palm against Justin's cheek, and Justin nuzzles into it immediately. Not so sleepy, then.

"I waited like you said," Justin repeats, and all of a sudden something slides into place in Marc-Édouard's head. He feels like he's been waiting for this all his life; he feels wildly unprepared. But he knows he needs to step up right now, and he wants to. It feels like seeing Justin's haziness just makes Marc-Édouard's own focus so much the sharper. He wants to see every bit of what Justin's feeling and cover all the places Justin has laid himself open. 

"You did so good," Marc-Édouard says, and watches Justin smile. "Yes, you get my dick now." 

Justin gets to it without saying anything else. Marc-Édouard rests a hand over Justin's hair and looks down at Justin's eyes, now fallen closed, and his stretched, open mouth. It doesn't take long before Marc-Édouard feels that he's close. He taps at Justin's shoulder and, when Justin draws back, takes over with his own hand to finish himself off.

He pulls Justin up onto the bed so they can kiss while he strokes Justin's dick. "That was perfect," he says against Justin's cheek. He feels really unoriginal, but the catch in Justin's breath seems to show that doesn't matter right now. "You're so good for me." 

Justin doesn't make much noise when he comes, but his body arches and then falls still. Marc-Édouard wraps both arms around him and holds on tight.

Justin stirs after a while, stretching his shoulders and pressing a kiss to Marc-Édouard's jaw. "I've gotta," he says, and jerks his chin in the direction of the bathroom. Marc-Édouard kisses him once more and lets go.

Marc-Édouard goes on a crash reading course during the road trip that starts the next day. He's picked up some information here and there before, enough to give him a sense of what to start searching for, but it feels like everything that was spread out on the edges of his awareness has suddenly coalesced front and center, making him need to understand in a way that's real and practical for the first time.

So he spends a few days reading, and jerking off furiously whenever he showers alone. When they get back to San Jose, he decides that it's time to bring it up with Justin—not because he's learned everything he needs to know, since he's obviously only scratched the surface, but because he wants the memory to be fresh in their minds when they talk about it. 

On the day between the two games of the homestand, Marc-Édouard waits till they're back at his house after practice and he's finished loading their lunch dishes into the dishwasher. Justin's still sitting at the kitchen table scrolling through his phone, and Marc-Édouard sits back down across from him. 

"Hey," Marc-Édouard says, "I wanted to ask you something."

Justin sets his phone down. "Yeah?"

"About the other night, I mean, last week," Marc-Édouard says. "That kind of went in a kinkier direction than I expected."

"What are you talking about," Justin says.

Justin's holding himself very still, and Marc-Édouard thinks Justin knows what he's talking about, but he decides not to call him on it yet. "When I had to go check on Kelly, and I asked you to wait for me, and you did."

"Of course I did," Justin says. "That's not weird, that's just... polite."

"It's not weird," Marc-Édouard says. "And I liked that you did it. But it felt like it got a little more intense than you just chilling till I got back."

Justin shrugs one shoulder. "So?" he says.

"So," Marc-Édouard says, "maybe, if we both like it, we could do more stuff like that. Like, on purpose."

Justin doesn't answer, but he looks thoughtful, so Marc-Édouard goes on. "But if we do, then we should talk about it first. Like, about limits, and safewords, that kind of thing."

But Justin immediately shakes his head. "No, I'm not into that. I'm not like that."

Marc-Édouard thinks about the slow, dreamy smile he'd seen on Justin's face and bites down on the urge to say _you kind of are, though_. "Not like what?" he asks instead.

"Like—kinky. BDSM."

"Ok, but what does that mean to you? Like, what are you thinking about that turns you off?"

"I don't know," Justin says. He hunches his shoulders up higher. "The stuff you hear about. Whips and chains, spanking, guys getting punched in the balls! Like, whatever, if they're into it, but that's not me!"

Marc-Édouard thinks about that list. "You're not into pain," he says.

"No!" Justin says. He's still agitated, but he sounds a little steadier, like he's satisfied that Marc-Édouard got his point.

"Ok. So what about other kinds of stuff?"

"What do you mean? What other stuff?"

"Like, have you ever thought about being tied up?"

Justin shrugs again, shaking his head. "No," he says. "I told you, I'm not like that." Marc-Édouard looks closely at Justin's face, but there's nothing in Justin's expression that contradicts the words, so he moves on.

"What about, you know, the kind of thing that ended up happening on Thursday? Did that work for you?"

Justin's face goes from blankness to confusion. "Yeah," he says, "but that was just regular sex? That wasn't kinky."

Marc-Édouard bites his lip. "Maybe not exactly, but it felt different to me. Like, right on the edge of it, at least."

Justin doesn't reply to that. Marc-Édouard waits a minute and then adds, "When I came back in, you said that you did what I told you to do, you waited for me like I said you should, and I liked hearing that. Did you like that too? Knowing you were doing what I wanted?"

Justin is silent for a minute, twisting the fingers of one hand restlessly around his thumb. "So you want what?" he says finally. "You want to order me around?"

"Yeah," Marc-Édouard says, although that's not quite it, or not all of it. That description is accurate as far as it goes, and he won't shy away from it, even if Justin's trying to make it sound bad.

"But all you had me do was blow you. I do that anyway."

"What if I told you to get on your knees for me and just kept you there for a while? What if I don't let you suck my dick until you've earned it?"

Justin's fidgeting has stilled. Marc-Édouard presses on.

"Would you wait to come till I gave you permission? Would you keep your hands off your dick if I said you couldn't come till I got you off?"

Justin goes silent again. "That's hot to you?" he finally asks. He's dropped his challenging tone, and the question doesn't sound sarcastic or defensive, just curious.

"Yeah," Marc-Édouard says. "Thinking about you like that turns me on. What about you?"

Justin's eyes close for just a moment longer than a blink. "I—I don't know," he says. "Can I have some time to think about it?"

Marc-Édouard nods. "Sure, of course. However much time you want."

They head right back out on the road, a short, mixed bag of a trip, winning one close game and dropping the next. Marc-Édouard follows Justin into his hotel room so they can kiss leaning against the closed door and jerk each other off, but there's no time for anything more complicated.

"So I, uh. I thought about it," Justin says the day after they get back home. Marc-Édouard snaps to attention.

"Yeah?" he says.

Justin nods, pressing his lips together. He's clearly making an effort to speak calmly, but his hands and his shoulders are tight and tense. "Here's the thing," he says. "I could be into some of the things you were talking about, the other day. But I'm really not into, uh, pain." 

"Ok," Marc-Édouard says. It's basically what he was expecting to hear.

"But you are."

That does surprise him; he's not entirely sure how Justin worked that out. Still, Justin's probably not wrong. "I think so," Marc-Édouard answers. "I haven't actually tried it yet."

"So if I don't do that with you, are you going to want to go look for someone who will?" Justin says.

"I—" Marc-Édouard breaks off and frowns, trying to feel out his reaction. In theory, sure, it's something he'd like to try, but... "Maybe someday, if we weren't—if I wasn't with you?" He's unprepared for the chill that runs through him at those words. "But I don't want to not be with you!"

"Me neither," Justin says. "I mean, me too. I mean—the fuck did you even just say to me?"

Marc-Édouard gets up and leans over the counter to kiss him.

"I'm not trying to experiment for the sake of it," Marc-Édouard says when they separate again. "What I want is for us to be together. It's just, if there's more we can do together, that we're both into, then I want to find that out. That's all."

"Well," Justin says. His shoulders have loosened, and his face looks flushed and pleased. "Ok, then."

He looks up and meets Marc-Édouard's eyes. Marc-Édouard smiles, and Justin smiles back.

Marc-Édouard clears his throat. "So have you thought about what you _are_ interested in doing?"

Justin's gaze drops down to his own hands. "I don't know. I guess something like what we ended up doing that time, like you said."

"Yeah. I think we should get a little more specific, though." 

Justin tilts his chin in a half-nod.

"If you're not sure how to think it through, there's these checklists we could use. I've been reading stuff online, and I think those could be a good starting point."

But Justin's making a face. 

"What?" Marc-Édouard asks.

"I guess that seems like overkill," Justin says. "Can't we just figure it out on our own?"

"I mean, we could. But the lists could still be useful for stuff we haven't thought of. Or just to make it easier to compare."

Justin still looks unconvinced.

"I'm just saying, other people besides us have done this before. We don't have to reinvent the wheel."

"I know," Justin says. "I just—I don't want to have to see all that stuff."

Marc-Édouard looks at Justin's unhappy face and decides this point isn't so important to carry. "Ok," he says. "But then you should think more about where you do want to start."

Justin nods.

The next thing on their schedule is yet another road trip. Marc-Édouard goes to Justin's hotel room to watch more of the robot battle show Justin loves. They sprawl out next to each other on the bed, leaning against the pillows they've pushed up against the headboard. Marc-Édouard spreads out his legs so that his thigh presses against Justin's.

"One more?" Justin asks when the episode ends. 

"Actually," Marc-Édouard says, "I wanted to talk about something for a minute."

Justin reaches for the remote to pause the show and then looks back at Marc-Édouard. "What's up?"

"It's for what we were talking about, about trying kinky stuff."

"I don't know yet," Justin says quickly. "I'm still thinking."

"Sure. But there's something else, besides figuring out what to do. Before we get started, you should choose a safeword."

Justin wrinkles his whole face up. "Do we have to do that? That's so—formal." He shrugs his shoulders as if to shake the idea off. 

"It's there for a reason," Marc-Édouard says.

"But we're not even talking about anything dangerous."

"Not physically, no. But if we do it right, it could still get pretty intense."

Justin frowns, but Marc-Édouard is fully prepared to stand his ground on this.

"Look, if you don't want to have to come up with your own, we can just stick with the stoplight system. Green, yellow, red—and I'll use it too, ok? So if you ever want to stop, you just say red. Will you promise me to do that?"

"Fine," Justin says. "But I'm not calling you sir, or daddy, or anything weird like that."

Marc-Édouard tries to parse out Justin's tone. As best he can tell, that's not any particular tender spot; Justin's just genuinely not interested, so he decides to let it pass. "There's nothing wrong with those, for the record," he says, "but we can skip them if they don't do it for you. I don't want to be looking over my shoulder for Jason, anyway."

Justin rolls his eyes at that, but his shoulders drop down out of their hunched arch, so Marc-Édouard counts it as a win.

"So," he says a couple nights later, "have you decided anything about what you're interested in?"

Justin bites his lip. "I've been trying to," he says, "but I don't know yet. You know I've never done anything like this before."

"But what do you want to try?"

"I don't know!" Justin says. He makes a face. "I'm sorry, I just—I feel like I keep drawing a blank when I try to think about it."

Marc-Édouard pauses and tries to gather his own thoughts. "But you do still want to try something?"

Justin juts his chin forward in a nod.

"Ok, here's what we're going to do," Marc-Édouard says. "We'll pick a night when we're at home, and I'll give you some commands. To start with, I'll only tell you to do things that you've already done before. But I want you to do them when I say so, because I say so. You want to try that?"

Justin breathes in and out, in and out. "Yeah," he says.

"All right," Marc-Édouard says. Now there's something warm and bright glowing in the center of his chest. "And look, if it turns out you hate it, then you just tell me and we'll drop it, ok?"

Justin still looks a little anxious, but he nods.

When the team gets back to San Jose, Bur gets sent down and Jason gets traded, all in the same week. So much for their brilliant leadership generating closeness in the room. Brenden Dillon seems friendly enough, laid-back and affable, but nobody seems inclined to suggest getting their dicks out again to bond with him. Marc-Édouard is fine with that. He doesn't want to share what he and Justin are doing now with the rest of the team, anyway.

On the day they picked to start trying things out, Marc-Édouard kisses Justin after dinner and tells him, "Come upstairs in twenty minutes." Then he gathers up the stuff his readings told him could be useful to have ready: water bottles, some snacks, and a soft, warm blanket, in addition to the lube and condoms and the cushion for Justin's knees. 

He has everything laid out by the time he hears Justin in the hall. Justin comes just inside the doorway and stops there, looking at him silently. 

Marc-Édouard smiles at him. "You ready?"

Justin nods.

"Tell me out loud," Marc-Édouard says, aiming for a firm but friendly tone.

Justin swallows. Then he lifts his chin and says, "Yeah, I'm ready."

"Ok," Marc-Édouard says. "Take off your clothes." 

Justin does it, not stripping to tease, just getting undressed. When he's piled everything up on the chair in the corner by the door, he turns around and looks back at Marc-Édouard.

Marc-Édouard sits down on the edge of the bed and lays the cushion down on the floor between his feet. "Come here," he says. He looks up as Justin approaches, but finds it hard to read Justin's guarded expression. There's nothing for it but to forge ahead.

"On your knees." 

Justin kneels down readily enough, showing no hesitation. But he also doesn't seem to be feeling what he did that first time. Marc-Édouard tries a couple of additional commands, "Close your eyes" and "Hands behind your back," and Justin obeys. He doesn't look like it's doing much for him, though, and Marc-Édouard himself is having trouble sinking into that sense of certainty he remembers being driven by before. 

He tries to think about what got Justin going then. It seems like being left alone might have helped throw Justin into the deep end, but that's not something Marc-Édouard wants to repeat right now. But maybe they can get closer even without that.

"Now I want you to stay still for a while," Marc-Édouard says. "Here," and he guides Justin's head down to lie on his thigh. "Right there."

Justin's face still looks mostly blank, but he stays where Marc-Édouard put him with his eyes closed. Marc-Édouard lays his hand on Justin's head and smooths Justin's hair back from his forehead, over and over. 

Several minutes pass. Out of nowhere, Justin heaves a deep sigh. His chin digs into Marc-Édouard's knee as he slumps down more heavily.

Marc-Édouard keeps petting him. Bit by bit, more and more tension drains from Justin's shoulders.

"Five more minutes," Marc-Édouard says when Justin looks mostly boneless. Then he realizes neither his phone nor his watch is within reach. He ends up counting off the seconds silently in his head, trying not to let his annoyance at himself distract him.

"You look so good like that," he tells Justin after he finishes counting the last minute. It's not even flattery—the line of Justin's profile makes a strong curve and his eyelashes lie dark against his cheek. Marc-Édouard could look at him all night. "All right. I want you to sit up now, but keep your eyes closed."

Justin does it. He's moving more loosely and easily now, and Marc-Édouard himself feels more certain of the direction they're going in, too.

"Open your mouth," he tells Justin.

Justin obeys. His face doesn't look either anxious nor blissful at the moment, just tuned-in and ready. Marc-Édouard still wishes he could get Justin to let go more completely, but for now, taking Justin from the wary mood he started with to this easy compliance feels like enough. And judging by how hard Justin's dick is, it's succeeded in doing something for him, too.

Marc-Édouard frees his own dick and lets it press up against Justin's lower lip. "You're doing so well," he says. "I'm so happy with you. You can have my dick now."

Justin starts sucking him immediately. It's a little hard to gauge facial expressions around closed eyes and a mouth full of cock, but Marc-Édouard thinks Justin looks pleased.

He knows he himself is not going to last, not with Justin's mouth on him with such extraordinary focus. He stays there for another minute before pulling out and jerking himself the rest of the way.

When he can speak again afterwards, he tells Justin, "Come up here now."

Marc-Édouard gets Justin laid out on his back on the bed and starts kissing across his chest and his stomach, over the cut of his hipbones. Then he lifts Justin's dick from where it's lying nearly flat up against Justin's belly and gets his mouth on it. Justin makes a sound like a whimper. Some other time, Marc-Édouard thinks, he'd like to see how long he can make Justin wait to come. But not today. Right now he just wants Justin to feel rewarded, so he sucks as steadily as he can until Justin's gasps rise into a whine, and swallows as much as he can when Justin comes.

Justin falls quiet then, his arm pressed over his eyes. Marc-Édouard untangles himself from between Justin's legs and moves back up to the head of the bed. He can't reach Justin's mouth with Justin's arm in the way, so he kisses Justin's elbow. Justin makes another small sound and curls himself into Marc-Édouard's chest. Marc-Édouard wraps his arms over Justin's back.

After a few minutes, Justin opens his eyes.

"Hey," Marc-Édouard says. Justin gives him a small smile, and Marc-Édouard kisses him again.

"Here, sit up a little," Marc-Édouard says next. "Are you thirsty?" 

Justin shakes his head. 

"Well, will you drink some water just to make me feel better?" 

That gets a slight laugh out of Justin, and he accepts the water bottle. Marc-Édouard eats some grapes himself while Justin's drinking, and then trades Justin the bowl for the bottle. Justin only takes one polite handful of grapes, but Marc-Édouard notices that the bottle is now three-quarters empty. He'll need to go on keeping an eye on hydration until Justin's re-oriented, then.

After passing the bowl back, Justin slides down the pillows again and leans his head on Marc-Édouard's shoulder. They sit a while longer together. 

When Justin moves to stand up, he presses his hand against Marc-Édouard's knee. Marc-Édouard finds himself touching the spot with his fingertips after Justin walks away. 

"So, last night," Marc-Édouard says.

Justin looks like he's just barely holding back his eyeroll. "Do we really have to talk more about it?"

"Yeah, we do," Marc-Édouard says. "I want to know how it went for you."

"It was fine, ok?" Justin shakes his head. Marc-Édouard waits, watching him. "It was good."

"Great," Marc-Édouard says, "but look, nothing's perfect when you're just starting out. If we don't talk about it, I won't be able to make it better."

Justin still looks sulky, but he nods.

"So first—you liked that? Or at least some of it?"

"Yeah," Justin says.

"Enough to want to do it again?"

Justin pauses just a fraction of a second before answering, "Yes."

"Which things did you like best?"

There's a slightly longer pause. "When you had your hand on my head. And when you told me you were happy with me."

"Which I still am," Marc-Édouard puts in. Justin makes a face like he doesn't want to show a smile. "Was there anything you didn't like?" Marc-Édouard goes on.

Justin's eyes drop, down and to the side. Then he takes a deep breath and says, "You came on the sheets."

Marc-Édouard blinks. "I washed them this morning. Did they not get clean enough? You want me to put them through again?"

Justin's mouth pinches together. "Whatever. I don't care about the sheets."

"Ok. But you didn't like—" Marc-Édouard tries to trace the thread back, and then he gets it. "Where do you want me to come?" he says, as gently as he can. Justin still goes really red. 

"On me," Justin mumbles.

Marc-Édouard feels new heat unfurling in the center of his chest. Some other time he might make Justin speak up more, but right now he's just delighted that Justin voiced a desire at all. "We can do that," he says. "I like that idea, too. Next time, ok? I'm glad you told me. Thank you."

Justin looks even redder. "What did _you_ like?" he says.

"I liked it when you relaxed. When you stopped worrying about other stuff and just let me lead you. I liked that you were trusting me."

Justin tilts his chin up in a tentative nod. "And not?"

"Well, I felt like it took us both a while to get into it. I think there's still farther we could go. But I figure that'll get easier if we do it more."

Justin's nod at that is much more decisive. 

Justin seemed calm enough during that conversation, despite his embarrassment. But he starts acting kind of squirrely around Marc-Édouard in the locker room at morning skate the next day.

"Hey Brauner, give me that tape," Marc-Édouard says, rushing to get his socks on.

Justin flings it at him with surprising vehemence.

"Uh, thanks?" Marc-Édouard says.

Justin rolls his eyes and turns away.

On the ice, Marc-Édouard finishes his drill, circles back around to the line, and taps Justin on the calves with his stick. "Get ready, you're up next," he says.

"I fucking _know_ ," Justin snaps.

Marc-Édouard stands still there watching Justin for a minute after Justin skates away.

"What was going on with you today at practice?" Marc-Édouard asks that night over dinner. "You were acting kind of weird."

Justin curls one corner of his lip. "I don't want you to tell me what to do at the rink. We only talked about it for, uh, during sex, and I don't—I don't want to do that anywhere else."

"What?" Marc-Édouard says. "I wasn't trying to—when did I give you a command at the rink?"

"All the time! You're all, _oh, give me that tape, hand me that bottle_ , just, like, constantly!"

"But those aren't orders," Marc-Édouard says. "Those are just favors I'm asking, like I'd ask any of the guys. It's not like you have to do them if you don't want to."

"Oh yeah?" Justin says. "It sure didn't feel that way."

"Look," Marc-Édouard says, "I really didn't mean it like that. Don't you think you might be overreacting a bit?"

"Sure," Justin snaps. He stands up abruptly from the table and carries his plate over to the sink, running the water loudly while he starts scraping out the pan they baked the fish in.

Marc-Édouard already regrets making that last comment, but he's not sure how to fix it. He gets up himself and clears the rest of the table, loading as many dishes as possible into the dishwasher. 

Justin washes all the pots and pans, with a lot of extra clanging and clattering. Then he turns off the water and walks out of the kitchen, heading upstairs. 

Marc-Édouard takes his time finishing up. It feels like a good idea to give Justin some time to cool down before trying to start talking about it again.

Eventually he follows Justin upstairs. Justin has kept a light on in the bedroom, and Marc-Édouard hopes it's a good sign that Justin didn't just walk out altogether, despite being mad; that he chose to stay here, in Marc-Édouard's house and his bedroom and his bed. 

Marc-Édouard gets into bed himself and says, "Hey."

Justin turns to look at him.

"Listen, I want to say—" Marc-Édouard presses his lips together. "I'm sorry I made things tough for you at skate. I didn't mean to, but I'm sorry I did."

Justin keeps watching him silently.

"And you're not overreacting. I'm sorry I said that." Marc-Édouard pauses, trying to figure out how to say the next part. "Do you think maybe you're more like, _still_ reacting? To what we did the other day, I mean. You feel like it's still on your mind?"

"Maybe," Justin answers. His eyes shift to the side, back to center, then down, while he's thinking. Then he blurts out, "I kind of don't feel totally back to normal yet."

"I mean, we did something new and big and kind of intense. It makes sense that that would stick with you for a while."

"Yeah." Justin rubs his hand over his own forehead. Then he sighs. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. And I get that you didn't mean to be making commands this morning. The stuff you said just hit me weird."

"What would help with that? I can try to make extra sure I'm asking favors like that as a question?"

"That'd be good," Justin says. 

"Ok." Marc-Édouard holds out his arm, and to his relief, Justin moves forward into it, laying his head on Marc-Édouard's shoulder.

"Do you still want to try again?" Marc-Édouard asks. "Or would you rather just drop it?"

"What? No." Justin pulls back enough to meet Marc-Édouard's eyes. "I liked it," he says, his voice dropping low. "I want more."

Marc-Édouard kisses him.

They make a brief trip to Alberta and lose a tight game in Edmonton. Justin looks a little hollow-eyed back home the next day. 

"Come on," Marc-Édouard says after dinner. He leads Justin upstairs and tosses down the cushion he's decided to reserve for this. "On your knees," he says. 

Justin drops down with a deep sigh. 

"Good," Marc-Édouard says. 

He tries to keep his hand steady as he brushes it over Justin's hair. It doesn't take Justin quite as long to settle this time. Once the tension has gone out of Justin's body, Marc-Édouard sets his fingers under Justin's jaw and nudges his chin upward to lift his head.

Justin's eyes looking up at him are clear and untroubled, only waiting for what Marc-Édouard will do next.

Marc-Édouard gets his dick out, then taps two fingers against Justin's lips. "Open," he says. Justin does, and Marc-Édouard presses the head of his dick into Justin's mouth. "You're so good at this," Marc-Édouard says as Justin's eyelids drop back down and he starts to suck. "So good for me."

When Marc-Édouard starts feeling like he's close, he touches Justin's forehead and says, "Enough, stop now." Justin does that too, though his face telegraphs his disappointment even from under his closed eyes.

Then Marc-Édouard realizes he forgot to have Justin take his clothes off when they started. Stopping to fix that now feels like it would cause too much of a break in the mood, but maybe he can split the difference.

"Pull your shirt up to your shoulders, and hold it there," he tells Justin. Justin's breaths get faster as he obeys. Marc-Édouard can't quite tell whether Justin's reacting to the idea of exposing his body, or to the anticipation of what's coming next. Maybe both. He'll have to try to suss that out later. For now, though, the eagerness on Justin's face is enough. 

Marc-Édouard jerks himself as fast as he can stand to. He swipes his thumb over the head of his dick and feels himself on the verge. With his next stroke he tries to aim downwards. Then he's spilling come in streaks all over Justin's bared chest.

Justin's hand twitches against the folds of fabric, though he controls it and stills again immediately. Marc-Édouard doesn't want to make him wait any longer, though. He leans down to open Justin's belt buckle and pull Justin's zipper down. "Touch yourself," he says.

Justin's fingers twitch once more. Then he lets go of his shirt with that hand, wraps his palm around his cock, and starts stroking it.

Marc-Édouard leans forward again and slides his hand through the mess on Justin's chest, spreading his come around in a fine sheen over Justin's skin. Justin's mouth drops open when Marc-Édouard thumbs at his nipples. Marc-Édouard swipes up some come on his fingers and lays them on Justin's mouth. 

"Suck," he says. Justin's lips close tightly around his fingers. 

"Look at me," Marc-Édouard says next. Justin's eyelashes flutter immediately, but it takes him a minute to force his eyes all the way open. That makes Marc-Édouard's breath catch; seeing Justin struggle so eagerly to obey a command is even better than a fast response on things that are easy. 

"You're so perfect," Marc-Édouard says.

Justin's face looks almost incandescent.

"Come for me now," Marc-Édouard adds quickly. "I want to see you." And Justin does. His eyes blink closed just once before he widens them again to keep his gaze fixed upward. Marc-Édouard feels overwhelmed. He pulls Justin close to kiss him as soon as Justin's body stills.

It takes them a while to come back down from that.

"Could you pass me the black tape?" Marc-Édouard says carefully, bracing the butt of his stick against the edge of the bench. Justin flicks a sharp glance his way and then tosses the roll over with a slightly awkward smile.

They don't get into it during road trips. Marc-Édouard really, really does not like the idea of being interrupted, and there's no way to guarantee that when they're surrounded by teammates and staff in a hotel. He was a little worried that Justin might be disappointed at the "at home only" edict, but Justin shakes his head with a half-smile. 

"I get it," he says, "you want to be in control of the whole situation."

Marc-Édouard has to laugh at himself. "I guess I do."

"I mean, I don't want anybody else walking in on us either. That's not for them to see. It's—" Justin pauses, and then he finishes, "it's only for you."

Then Marc-Édouard has to kiss him again.

That doesn't mean they don't hang out when they're on the road, though. Justin comes to Marc-Édouard's room to watch more of the robots or whatever mindless show they can find to binge. They start both sitting sprawled out, but midway through an episode, Justin makes a discontented sound and moves closer, nudging himself right up against Marc-Édouard's side and laying his head on Marc-Édouard's shoulder. Marc-Édouard lifts his arm and settles it more comfortably around Justin, rubbing his fingers over the part of Justin's arm that's within reach. 

It isn't sexy at all, but there's something soothing in an increasingly familiar way about having Justin tucked up close and resting against him. He breathes in deeply and only then realizes how shallow his breaths had been before.

They string together a couple of wins and then lose in another blowout in St. Louis. Justin's shoulders are hunched unbelievably tight. Marc-Édouard can't wait to get home.

"I want to try a new position next time," Marc-Édouard says.

"Ok?" Justin says. 

"I want to fuck your mouth while you're on your back."

"Fine," Justin says. After a moment, he adds, more slowly, "You don't have to tell me everything ahead of time, do you? I kind of—sometimes I like not knowing what you're going to want. So I just have to listen to you."

Marc-Édouard has to take a breath. "That's really fucking hot," he says. "But, uh, I do need to talk to you about this one before we start." Justin raises his eyebrows. "You won't be able to move or back off as easily as when you're kneeling, and that means it'll be hard for you to say anything. So if you need to stop, or you just want to take a break, tap on my leg like this. Ok?"

"Sure," Justin says. When Marc-Édouard keeps looking at him, he expands that to, "Yeah, got it." He still sounds a little rote, but Marc-Édouard decides to be satisfied with that.

So after he's had Justin strip down that night, Marc-Édouard tells him to lie down on the bed. Justin's cock isn't quite hard yet. Marc-Édouard lays his hand over it, touching softly under the head. Justin's eyes flutter closed. 

Marc-Édouard swings a leg over Justin's body then and settles with his knees on either side of Justin's arms. "Tell me if you're ready," he says. 

Justin gives a little nod. 

"Out loud."

"I'm ready," Justin says.

Marc-Édouard pushes his dick against Justin's lips, and Justin opens his mouth.

He seems distracted at first, even preoccupied. But gradually he finds a rhythm, and that appears to settle him mentally too. 

When Marc-Édouard feels himself getting close, he puts a hand on Justin's forehead to signal him to stop sucking. Justin blinks his eyes open as he lets Marc-Édouard's cock slip out of his mouth. Marc-Édouard reaches down with his left hand and pets at the edges of Justin's hair that he can reach. With his right, he's jacking himself as hard as he ever has. 

"Close your eyes," he gasps out. Justin does. Marc-Édouard braces his free hand on the headboard and jerks himself even faster. Justin opens his mouth, not trying to speak, just holding it open, and seeing that sets Marc-Édouard off. He angles upward this time and stripes come over Justin's lips and his tongue and the line of his cheekbone. Justin licks his lips and swallows quickly. Marc-Édouard's dick kicks out one more smaller line of come.

Later, after Justin has handed him back the water bottle, Marc-Édouard rubs his thumb over the tacky half-dried come on Justin's cheek and says, "Hang on a minute, I'll go get a washcloth."

But Justin's chin comes up and he says, "Not yet!"

Marc-Édouard lets out a startled laugh. "No?"

"I mean—that wasn't an order, was it?"

"No. We're done for tonight."

"Then I want to, uh. Stay like this, a little longer."

"Sure," Marc-Édouard says. Justin looks a little embarrassed but mostly relieved. Marc-Édouard leans in to press a kiss to Justin's cheek, just to the side of the streak.

"So how'd that feel last night?"

Justin bites his lip. "It was fine," he says after a minute, "but I think I'd rather be on my knees. I couldn't get as much leverage, so I couldn't go down as much as I usually can. And it was harder to figure out how to breathe."

"Ok," Marc-Édouard says. It's too bad that didn't work as well for Justin as it did for him, since he liked having Justin laid out beneath him, but he can never get enough of Justin kneeling either, so that's all good. "Was there anything about it that you liked?"

Justin flushes red. "You know," he says. "When you marked up my face." 

Marc-Édouard smiles. "Me too."

The next time Marc-Édouard has Justin on his knees, he leans down to kiss Justin's forehead and says, "I want you to jerk off for me now. But don't go too fast—do it like this." He moves his hand down to Justin's dick and gives it a couple of slow strokes. "Don't speed up."

Justin glances up at him quickly, then puts his hand next to Marc-Édouard's and takes over jerking himself. 

"Are you close?" Marc-Édouard says some time later.

Justin makes a low sound in his throat, still moving his hand at the steady pace Marc-Édouard set for him. Marc-Édouard tries again. 

"Tell me if you're close. Out loud."

Justin opens his mouth first and then his eyes, blinking hard to focus. "Yes, I'm close," he answers hoarsely. But his face has lost the dreamy certainty that he had before, his gaze now watchful as he looks up at Marc-Édouard, and Marc-Édouard finds he regrets having dragged Justin back into speaking. He makes a mental note to keep that to the earlier stages from now on, before Justin gets in this deep.

For now, he runs his hands through Justin's hair. "That's good," he says. "I want you to wait three more minutes. Keep going, and I'll tell you when it's time."

Justin's eyes widen, but his hand doesn't waver on his dick. Marc-Édouard doesn't say anything when Justin's eyelids slowly drift down again. 

The next time he speaks, he says, "Time's up. You can come now." Justin makes a soft whimpering sound, moves his hand twice more, and jerks forward with his release.

Afterwards, while Justin's curled up against Marc-Édouard's shoulder, Marc-Édouard traces over the streaks of come on Justin's chest and belly with his thumb. Justin doesn't open his eyes, but his mouth curves up into a satisfied smile.

When Marc-Édouard opens Kelly's crate in the morning, she goes racing into the kitchen ahead of him and jumps all over Justin's legs. 

"Hey, girl," Justin says, reaching down to scratch her head. Then he opens the cabinet where Marc-Édouard keeps the dog food, gets out a can, and puts half of it in Kelly's dish. 

Marc-Édouard stands watching from the doorway, astonished at how much warmth that sight kindles in his chest.

Justin glances up. "Does she need fresh water?" he says.

"Yeah, thanks," Marc-Édouard manages to say. 

Justin stoops down to pick up the water bowl. Marc-Édouard stares shamelessly at his ass as Justin walks over to the sink.

Just before the All-Star break, Justin blocks a shot with his fist and gets a broken hand and a month on IR for his trouble.

Marc-Édouard means to give the command thing a rest while Justin's healing, but after the third time Justin brings his cast up to Marc-Édouard's back while they're kissing, Marc-Édouard sits back and says, "You're supposed to be keeping your hand still. Do I need to tell you to stay put?"

He's halfway joking, but Justin's eyes go dark and hungry. 

"Yeah?" Marc-Édouard says. "You wanna?"

Justin flushes red. "It's been a while," he says.

"Yeah. I didn't want to do anything to interfere with—that," Marc-Édouard says, gesturing at the cast. "But maybe you could use some help."

He knows that physical restraints are off the table, but he has an idea that being told to hold still unaided might work for Justin. So he puts his hands on Justin's wrists, taking a second to feel the warm skin and the scratchy surface of the cast, and guides them both, slowly and gently, to lie flat on the sheet on either side of Justin's head. "Keep them there," Marc-Édouard says.

Then he starts taking his time touching Justin, smoothing his palm over Justin's chest, drawing the edge of his little finger over Justin's hipbone, running light fingertips over the inner sides of Justin's thighs. Every time Justin's hands twitch upward, Marc-Édouard lifts his own hands away and doesn't resume until Justin's dropped back down to the sheet again. 

"Don't come yet," he says. "Keep your eyes on me."

Justin drags his eyes open with some effort and keeps his gaze trained on Marc-Édouard's hands while Marc-Édouard jerks himself off. Marc-Édouard comes over Justin's chest, and smiles to see Justin's dick jerk weakly, untouched.

"I love how you look covered in my come," he remarks. Justin's mouth has dropped open. Marc-Édouard smears his hand across Justin's chest and then puts his fingers into that warm space, pressing them down on Justin's tongue. "Yeah, you look fucking amazing," he says. "Wish I could keep you like this all the time." Justin makes a soft keening sound in his throat. 

Marc-Édouard brings his other hand up to pet Justin's hair. "You did really well," he says. "You get to come now." Justin's eyes flutter closed. "Eyes on me," Marc-Édouard says. Justin's chin comes up, and then he opens his eyes again. 

When he's satisfied that Justin's watching, Marc-Édouard pulls back to slick up his hand. Then he gets down to stroking Justin's dick, lingering to look at the deep red of the head surrounded by the circle of his fingers.

Justin gives a long, shuddering sigh when he comes. Marc-Édouard leans in to kiss him, then reaches up and brings Justin's hands down, first one and then the other, to rest at his sides. 

Partway through February, in Vancouver, Marc-Édouard gets his bell rung and has to sit out a handful of games himself. He and Justin sit side by side in the press box watching as the losses pile up. At night they drop into bed without talking, worn out just from having to look on without being able to help.

They both make it back into the lineup in time for the stadium series game, but after all the hype, it ends up being nothing but a low-scoring flop. Any excitement they felt about playing outdoors, in front of so many fans, is pretty much negated by losing to the Kings in such a lifeless muddle—just one more sign of the season sliding downhill.

Marc-Édouard feels exhausted and uninspired that night, even when he looks at Justin kneeling between his thighs. Justin doesn't look like being on his knees will be enough to make him relax, but Marc-Édouard can't think of anything new to tell him to do.

Finally he has an idea. "Come up here," he says, moving back a little further onto the mattress. "Over my lap, face down."

Justin lifts his head and looks up, his eyes still sharply focused and now round and anxious too. He starts moving to get up, but slowly, with an obvious reluctance Marc-Édouard hasn't seen from him before.

Marc-Édouard intended the command as a bit more of a challenge for Justin to obey, but not to this extent. He wonders if Justin thinks that position's only for spanking. Maybe some reassurance will help. "Hey," Marc-Édouard says. He puts three fingers under Justin's chin to make Justin look at him. "Nothing we ruled out. I promise." He waits for Justin to nod. "Now come here."

Justin lets out a breath in a heavy rush. Then he crawls up and stretches out over Marc-Édouard's thighs, with his forehead pressed to his arm over the mattress, his legs spread wide, and his ass tilted up. 

Marc-Édouard spends a good few minutes just running his palms over that tempting swell, listening to Justin's breathing. When Justin has settled into a more relaxed rhythm, Marc-Édouard slides his thumbs down along Justin's crease, bringing Justin's hole into view. 

"I love getting to see you like this," he tells Justin. "You're so good, showing yourself to me."

Justin's breath hitches at that. 

Marc-Édouard reaches for the bottle of lube, grateful for flip caps he can open one-handed, and slicks up his other hand. He presses in with one finger and keeps his eyes on the sweat springing up at Justin's temple.

He can feel Justin's dick trapped against his thigh, too, getting harder and leaking more the longer he plays with Justin's hole. He tugs at the rim and grins at the gasp Justin lets out.

"Turn over now," Marc-Édouard says, letting go and wiping his hand off on the sheets. Justin's indrawn breath almost sounds like a sob. He shifts his weight awkwardly, trying to roll over in place, and ends up with his back pressed against Marc-Édouard's stomach. Marc-Édouard gets his hands under Justin's arms and hauls Justin up into something closer to a sitting position, curled against his chest. He wraps his arm around Justin's shoulders and takes Justin's dick in his clean hand. 

"You took that really well," he says low in Justin's ear. "I'm so happy with you. You can come now."

It only takes a few more strokes before Justin does. After he's done, he flings an arm around Marc-Édouard's neck and hides his face against Marc-Édouard's shoulder. Marc-Édouard holds Justin to his chest as tightly as he can. 

The game feels like a very distant memory already.

Shep, Freddie, Tyler, and Desi are all gone in what feels like one fell swoop at the trade deadline. It feels bad to lose them, and worse to know that they might still be around if the team had been better, had pulled together a little more. If Marc-Édouard had really pulled his weight, been a better A, or even just blocked some more shots.

Ironically enough, they somehow win their next two games, and Marc-Édouard even has an assist on the game-winner in one and an empty-netter in the other. The mood on the plane back to San Jose is punchy and a little wild-eyed. 

"Do you, uh, wanna..." Justin says when they're back at the house.

Marc-Édouard shakes his head; he doesn't really feel calm enough to bring his full focus to it. "Not sure I can right now. You wanna just fuck?" 

"Um. Ok, yeah," Justin says.

Marc-Édouard is glad of it. He wants to fuck hard and fast, to lose himself in the rhythm, and not have to think too hard while he's doing it. And it's good, it's fucking amazing to be between Justin's legs, Justin's body tight around him, until they're tired out. The only thing is, Marc-Édouard's head hasn't quieted much at all.

Nemo sits Pittsburgh down in a tense shootout and then turns around and shuts out Nashville. The room is wild again after that game, hope creeping in past their defenses. Justin comes in for a good share of the yelling since he assisted on the game-winner. Even while Jumbo's still slapping his back, though, his eyes turn towards Marc-Édouard in anticipation. It's quite a kick to see.

When Marc-Édouard gets Justin home and on his knees, he can't resist staying in Justin's mouth until he comes. 

At the end of March, Marc-Édouard takes a bad hit and has to leave the game in the first period. There are still half a dozen or so games to go, but the doctors tell him in no uncertain terms that his season is over.

He is furious. He's disappointed and frustrated and sad and a whole range of other things as well, but more than anything else, he's filled with rage, at working so hard and having that yanked out from under him, at being cut off from the team's efforts just when it seemed like their striving might still have a hope of getting them somewhere.

He's too preoccupied for the next several days to even think about sex. Then he looks across the dinner table to find Justin's eyes on him, wide with longing, before Justin drops his gaze down to his plate.

When they've finished eating and the dishwasher is loaded, Marc-Édouard sets his hand on Justin's hip, where Justin's leaning over the sink, and says, "Come upstairs when you're done."

Justin turns in his hold, looking worried. "Are you sure? We don't have to if you're not feeling like it yet."

Marc-Édouard pauses long enough to ensure that he has Justin's full attention. "Come upstairs when you're done," he repeats then.

Justin blinks. "Yes," he says.

Marc-Édouard does actually have to be careful of his own healing leg, but sitting on the edge of the bed is fine as long as he doesn't lean too much of his weight on that side. It's nice not to have to focus on that for a while.

Once he gets Justin kneeling in front of him, he presses at Justin's lower lip with his fingertips and says, "Open." Justin obligingly drops his jaw. Marc-Édouard isn't very hard yet, but he's pretty sure he will be soon, meds and all. He pushes his dick in between Justin's lips. Justin tries to close his mouth around him, but Marc-Édouard lays his hand on Justin's forehead to stop him. "Don't suck yet," he says. "You need to earn that first. Right now I just want you to hold me here for a while."

Justin's cheeks get blotchy red, but he settles back a little more on his heels and swallows carefully around Marc-Édouard's cock.

"Good," Marc-Édouard tells him. "Now close your eyes. That's more like it."

Justin's hair is getting long again. Marc-Édouard runs his fingers through it, holding some strands up and away from the rest to see the way they fall back in a messy line. It's soft against his fingers, and leads his touch to the warm skin behind Justin's ears, the nape of Justin's neck.

Justin's breaths sound a little harsh through his nose, but they're regular and steady, and Marc-Édouard finds himself calming into a gentler focus as he listens. The sense of purpose unspooling before him is an immense relief.

He can feel his dick filling out gradually, too. Justin has his palms braced flat against his own thighs, and his untouched cock is nudged tight up against his belly.

"You're so good, waiting for me," Marc-Édouard tells him. Now that he's relaxed a little, it's easier to be generous. Justin doesn't look up. Marc-Édouard didn't intend that as a test, but he's glad to see Justin concentrating so well, even so. "Two more minutes."

When the time is up, Marc-Édouard leans down and kisses the top of Justin's head. "That was perfect," he says. "I'm so proud of you. You can suck me now—you've earned it."

Justin lets out an eager whimpering sound. He lets Marc-Édouard's dick slip out of his mouth for a moment, licks his lips, and then goes back down, hot and wet and tight.

"Touch yourself," Marc-Édouard gets out between breaths, "but don't come until I do." 

Justin drops one hand down immediately.

Marc-Édouard finds himself on the edge sooner than he expected. He doesn't feel like making himself wait, and so he doesn't. He presses his palm to Justin's forehead to make Justin pull off, then throws his own head back and lets his orgasm overtake him. 

"You can open your eyes now," he says, looking down at Justin once he's caught his breath. His come is sliding down Justin's chest, except for some stray drops on Justin's neck. 

Justin's lashes fly up, and he meets Marc-Édouard's eyes with that dreamy gaze that Marc-Édouard loves to see. 

"Perfect," Marc-Édouard repeats. He reaches out and rubs some of the sticky streaks further into Justin's skin. Justin's body bows forward as he comes.

The guys keep pushing and pushing and manage to keep their mathematical chances alive until three games before the end of the season. Then the Stars come into town for the Sharks' last home game.

The Stars score within the first thirty seconds, putting to rest any illusions about how the game is going to go. To rub it in, Jason has the primary assist. Marc-Édouard watches him cellying with his new teammates, and Tahoe feels very far away.

But the game becomes meaningless before it's even over. With the Jets closing out their win in Minnesota, both the Sharks and the Stars are eliminated from contention no matter how their own game turns out. Still, the Stars at least have the consolation of having won tonight. The Sharks have nothing. 

Having to watch without being able to get onto the ice and help is infuriating. Marc-Édouard feels incensed at every turnover and every flubbed pass that he knows he could have prevented. He stares down at Justin and the others wishing he could make them do what they should by sheer force of willpower.

When he gets Justin back to his house, he knows there's only one thing that will make this better. Justin is twitchy and restless, but Marc-Édouard feels deadly calm. He waits till Justin's taken off his shoes and put them on the rack. Then he says, "That was a shitshow tonight. You're going to have to show me you're capable of executing here, since you didn't on the ice." 

Justin looks at him silently. Marc-Édouard is annoyed that Justin isn't answering, but he guesses that was more of a statement than a command, so he'll let it go.

"Upstairs," he says, and Justin goes.

"Strip," Marc-Édouard says when they get to the bedroom, and Justin does. Justin still looks a little sulky, but that's all right. Marc-Édouard is enjoying how soothing it feels to be obeyed; to have one thing that's under his control. If it costs Justin an effort to obey, so much the better.

"Come here," he says, and Justin does. Justin's eyes flick to the side where they keep the kneeling cushion, and Marc-Édouard decides not to reach for it.

"You haven't earned that tonight. Get on the bed, on your back," he says instead, and Justin does.

He pulls off his own clothes while Justin shifts and settles on the pillows. Then Marc-Édouard throws a knee over Justin's waist to straddle him, balancing himself on his good leg.

"Open up," Marc-Édouard says.

Justin draws in a shaky breath. Then he turns his head to the side, his cheek pressed to the pillow, avoiding Marc-Édouard's eyes. "No," he says.

Marc-Édouard feels his own eyebrows fly up. "What did you say to me?"

"No," Justin repeats. "Stop, fucking... _red_ , whatever, just get the hell off of me."

Marc-Édouard freezes. Then he vaults to the side so fast he almost slides off the edge of the mattress. He steadies himself by clenching his hand into the sheet next to his knee. Everything else he was just feeling has been wiped away, replaced by the single fear of hurting Justin.

"Can you—" he starts, and has to stop to clear his throat. "Can you tell me what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Justin still has his face turned away, his eyes squeezed shut and his breaths coming in deep, shuddering gusts, but after a moment he opens his mouth and says, "You're actually mad at me." Another breath. "So it doesn't feel good."

"I'm sorry," Marc-Édouard says. It feels horribly inadequate. "I'm really sorry." 

Justin shrugs one shoulder.

Guilt and shame are hovering behind Marc-Édouard's neck, but he knows it would be even worse to let himself start wallowing in them right now. "What do you need?" he asks. "I mean, what do you want to do now?"

Justin takes a few more breaths. Then he says, "I just want to go to sleep."

"Do you want me to be here for that? I'll leave if you want, but maybe it's better if you're not alone? I could call one of the guys if you'd rather not—" 

"You can stay," Justin says. He pushes himself up and swings his legs over his side of the bed. After sitting there for another minute, he stands up and says, "I'm going to go brush my teeth."

When Justin comes back, Marc-Édouard gets up and takes his own turn in the bathroom. He catches a glimpse of his own hollow-eyed reflection in the mirror and looks quickly away again. 

He returns to find Justin lying in bed, eyes still open, watching him silently. He walks around to his own side of the bed and gets in, lying stiffly on his back, careful to leave a distinct space between himself and Justin. Still, when Marc-Édouard turns his head, Justin is looking back at him.

"Night," Justin says, low, and rolls over to face the other way.

Marc-Édouard isn't sure how he can fall asleep with the warm weight of Justin's body lying just out of reach. But somehow he's exhausted enough that his eyes fall closed.

In the morning Marc-Édouard wakes up to find Justin studying his face. 

"Morning," he croaks.

"Morning," Justin says. He reaches one hand out from underneath the blankets. Marc-Édouard tentatively puts his own over it. Justin squeezes Marc-Édouard's fingers once, then gets up and heads into the bathroom.

"Listen," Marc-Édouard says after they've had their coffee. "About yesterday—I'm really sorry. I was wrong to take how I was feeling after the game out on you." The game itself already feels remote, a far more distant memory than that of Justin turning his face away against the pillow, which Marc-Édouard can't unsee. 

"Ok," Justin replies. "Thanks."

"I'm glad you spoke up when you did, I mean, thank you for that. But I shouldn't have ever let things get to that point." 

Justin makes a face. "That's how it's supposed to work, right? I told you to stop, and you stopped."

"Yeah, but if you had to tell me to stop, then I already fucked up."

"Well, shocker, you weren't born a fucking perfect expert at this." Justin sits back and sighs. "Look, you apologized. I accept your apology. Now don't, like, wallow, ok? Don't make me have to make you feel better about it."

"Right," Marc-Édouard says. He takes a deep breath, trying to let go of the unproductive burst of shame that Justin had to call him out on that, too. When he meets Justin's eyes, Justin gives him a small smile. Marc-Édouard manages a wry grin back. He leans forward, and when Justin leans in to meet him, he kisses Justin with all the sweetness he can muster.

The season officially ends a few days later. McLellan doesn't put many of the regulars into the lineup for the last game, and Marc-Édouard and Justin are both watching as the kids on the ice in LA flail their way to a final loss. The mood in the room afterward is somewhere between subdued and apathetic.

It's an exhausting night even without having played. When Marc-Édouard finally gets Justin back home with him, they barely manage to make themselves eat something before they give in to the urge to fall into bed and go to sleep.

Locker cleanout feels a little less oppressive. There's something satisfying about throwing old junk away, and guys are asking each other about summer plans with a sense of anticipation, despite the underlying bitter taste of starting the summer so early. Jumbo hugs both Marc-Édouard and Justin again in the parking lot before they all head out.

"Next year, eh?" he says, and they laugh and agree.

After they wrap up all the team stuff, they get some time to themselves. Theoretically they're packing and getting ready to close up their places in San Jose, but in practice they spend the first few days mostly on Marc-Édouard's couch.

It's not until dinnertime on the second day that Marc-Édouard manages to ask the question that's been on his mind since March. At first he put off asking because he didn't want to sound like he was giving up hope for the season. Then, after the night of his fuckup, things felt far too shaky between them to bring it up. 

But now things feel easier again, and there's nothing else on the calendar to wait for, so he pulls himself together and asks, "Do you want to come to Montréal with me?"

Justin puts down his box of pad thai and turns to look at Marc-Édouard. "When?" he says.

Marc-Édouard shrugs. "For the summer. As long as you can—I mean, however long you want."

Justin tilts his head, looking thoughtful. "I should go home and visit my folks at some point," he says.

"Sure, of course."

"But yeah," Justin says finally, "I'll go with you."

"That's great," Marc-Édouard says. He's more relieved and pleased than he can put into words. "That's—really great."

Justin smiles, and lets Marc-Édouard lean forward and kiss him.

Marc-Édouard would have let go after a minute, but Justin puts a hand on Marc-Édouard's jaw, holding him close. So Marc-Édouard lingers, one hand stroking through Justin's hair and the other roaming across Justin's back.

They tilt farther and farther to the side until it becomes easiest to slide the rest of the way down onto the couch. Then they stretch out lengthwise, pressed close together with just enough room to get their hands in between them. Justin gets restless quickly, rocking against Marc-Édouard's body and sighing as Marc-Édouard kisses down along the line of his throat. Justin comes fairly quickly too, throwing his head back with a quiet groan that sets Marc-Édouard off almost immediately as well.

They keep kissing as their breathing slows down again, bit by bit, until the kissing turns into napping and Marc-Édouard sinks into a deep, warm sleep.

Marc-Édouard is more motivated after that, and he pushes a little harder to get everything wrapped up in San Jose. Within a week they're on a plane to Canada, and for the first time since they really got together, Marc-Édouard gets to bring Justin into his Montréal house. Justin's been there a few times before, at various intervals when they were playing the Habs, but seeing him sitting at the kitchen counter or sprawled out on one of the couches makes the warmth in Marc-Édouard's chest settle into a solid and steady glow.

It doesn't take them very long to get into a routine once they get their summer training regimen going. Marc-Édouard has a lot of work to do to rehab his leg, and Justin's focused on building back up the muscle he lost over the last part of the season. That leaves them tired enough that they don't try to plan much of anything else.

They're finishing dinner in the kitchen when Justin sets his fork and knife down and says, "Are you ever going to let me kneel again?" 

Marc-Édouard takes in a breath. "You still want that?" he says. 

"Yup," Justin says. His tone sounds breezy in a way that clashes with the slightly stiff way he's holding himself. He picks up his fork again and stabs it into a piece of chicken. Then his eyes soften. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

"I thought you might not want to do it with me, anymore," Marc-Édouard says. 

Justin looks at him, biting his lip. Then he says, "I don't want it from anyone else."

Marc-Édouard feels his face go hot. "Tonight, then," he says.

When Justin appears in the doorway of the bedroom, Marc-Édouard suddenly wishes he'd done a lot more prep—not so much about what to do, because he got all the usual stuff laid out and ready without even needing to think about it too much—but to figure out what he's feeling. Part of him is as turned on as ever at the sight of Justin waiting for his commands, but there's something jumpy and tense in his stomach, too, worried about how this will go.

Justin is still waiting, though, so Marc-Édouard needs to pull himself together. "Get ready, and come here," he says.

Justin strips and comes to kneel down between Marc-Édouard's legs.

"Now I want you to wait," Marc-Édouard says. "Ten minutes."

Justin lays his head down on Marc-Édouard's thigh in the familiar position. Marc-Édouard slides his hand into Justin's hair. From time to time he glances at the clock he made sure to put on the dresser.

When the time is up, he tugs at Justin's hair, not enough to hurt, just to make Justin lift his head again. Justin meets his gaze with bright, alert eyes. 

"You're always so perfect," Marc-Édouard says. 

The corner of Justin's mouth curves up a tiny bit, but he doesn't answer. It's pretty clear though that he hasn't gone nonverbal; he's just choosing not to speak. Marc-Édouard sighs and shifts to his left hand to pet at Justin's hair. 

"Give me your hand," he says. Justin holds his palm out, and Marc-Édouard pours some lube into it. 

"Jerk yourself," he tells Justin next. "Keep going till I tell you to stop."

Justin drops his hand to his dick without looking away and starts stroking himself, neither rushing nor drawing it out.

Marc-Édouard says, "Stop," after two minutes, and Justin stills his hand. 

Marc-Édouard had worried that he'd be too tense to get properly hard, but watching Justin carry out his command, with that concentrated, slightly effortful expression, has all its usual effect after all. He adds more lube on Justin's hand and says, "Now jerk me off."

Justin flicks a glance up briefly, and then reaches for Marc-Édouard's dick. Marc-Édouard intends to watch, but he gives up on being able to focus on that about halfway through. Instead, he lets his head fall back and his thighs spread. He makes no effort to hold back his orgasm, just lets Justin's pattern build and build on him till it sends him over the edge.

"Now touch yourself again," Marc-Édouard says as soon as he catches enough breath to do so. "Slower," he adds, when Justin's hand starts flying. 

Justin takes a deep breath and starts over with a more measured stroke. His eyelashes flutter and the corners of his mouth twitch as he gets close. Marc-Édouard gives a fleeting thought to stopping him again, but that seems unnecessary when Justin's being so responsive. 

"Come on, come for me," Marc-Édouard says. He runs his hands over Justin's throat, his shoulders, his chest, and watches carefully as Justin's mouth twists and drops open when he comes.

Justin presses his forehead down to Marc-Édouard's leg after that, still kneeling. Marc-Édouard feels a little lost not being able to put his arms all the way around Justin, but it seems clear that that's what Justin wants right now. He grips Justin's shoulder with one hand instead, and runs the other through Justin's hair.

After maybe ten minutes or so, Justin takes in a deep breath, gets to his feet, and then leans back down again to press a kiss to Marc-Édouard's cheek. Marc-Édouard blinks, but Justin is already turning away to head back to the bathroom.

"So," Justin says at breakfast the next day, while Marc-Édouard is still chewing at his last strip of bacon. "I think that went fine, last night."

"Mm," Marc-Édouard says, both because his mouth is full and because he's not sure if it really did go quite so well.

"What's bugging you?" Justin says.

"It felt like you didn't really go under, yesterday, while you were kneeling."

"No," Justin agrees. "But I didn't really expect to. That wasn't the point."

"Um," Marc-Édouard says. "What was the point, then?"

"To ease back into it," Justin answers. "To show that you could keep control of yourself."

Marc-Édouard has to acknowledge the truth in that. "But you didn't get much out of it."

"Maybe not this time," Justin says. "But now we're building back up, you know? So next time will be better."

Marc-Édouard feels totally humbled by Justin's faith in him. 

The next time he puts Justin on his knees, he tells Justin to stop jerking off four times before he lets him finish. By the last time, Justin isn't making any sounds but wordless moans, and Marc-Édouard comes with his eyes fixed on Justin's open mouth.

After a week or two they get sufficiently used to their training program that they still have energy to go out and do something else in the evenings. Marc-Édouard takes Justin to his favorite restaurant, and drives past his old school on the way home after. When they get back into the slow neighborhood streets, Justin rolls his window down so that Kelly can put her nose out. The air is mild, and for once Marc-Édouard is around at the right time to see the cherry trees in full bloom.

Back in Marc-Édouard's bedroom, Justin steps inside the doorway and waits for his instructions.

"Strip," Marc-Édouard says, and Justin does.

"On your knees," Marc-Édouard says next. Justin starts to step forward, and Marc-Édouard shakes his head. "Right there," he says.

Justin looks somewhat confused, but he kneels down on the carpet.

"Now come here," Marc-Édouard tells him.

Justin's eyes flash up to him, then scan out over the expanse of floor between them. Marc-Édouard watches Justin draw in a deep breath, biting his lip. Then Justin starts crawling. 

The muscles in his shoulders and back ripple as he moves. His body is too well trained to be graceless, but his movements look hesitant and unpracticed. And yet he comes forward steadily, shifting his hands and knees closer and closer again. His breaths sound loud in the otherwise silent room. Marc-Édouard doesn't say anything to help, just watches Justin's bowed head, his tensed arms, and the glimpses of his dick bobbing between his legs and then up closer against his belly.

Partway across the room, Justin lifts his head and meets Marc-Édouard's gaze. Marc-Édouard gives Justin his most encouraging smile. Something shifts in Justin's eyes. He starts moving faster, closing the gap till he reaches Marc-Édouard and nudges his way into his place between Marc-Édouard's knees. 

As soon as Justin comes to a halt, Marc-Édouard takes Justin's upturned face between his hands to kiss him. "You're perfect," he murmurs, low in Justin's ear. "You're so amazing, you did that so beautifully. I'm incredibly happy with you." 

Justin looks up at him with wide eyes. Justin's expression looks closer to crying than smiling, but Marc-Édouard can see the eagerness in his barely contained energy. "Open your mouth," Marc-Édouard says. When Justin does, he traces over the line of Justin's lower lip with his thumb. "You've been so good for me," he says. "You can have my dick now. But don't touch yourself yet."

Justin opens his mouth and fits it over the head of Marc-Édouard's dick. Marc-Édouard moves his hands to Justin's hair.

"You're mine," he says. "I'm going to take such good care of you." Justin looks up at him with shining eyes, and Marc-Édouard has never felt more sure of anything in his life.


End file.
